Walking on Eggshells
by Donny's Boy
Summary: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall ... but even the strongest, tallest walls--given enough time--come tumbling down. A SimonJeanette story, set in the 80's cartoon universe.
1. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

"Walking on Eggshells"

by Donny's Boy

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to Alvin and the Chipmunks, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.

Warnings: Nada!

* * *

**I. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall**

Smooth, cold, utterly impenetrable. Like a wall of stone. As she sat in the high school cafeteria, picking idly at the salad in front of her, fifteen-year-old Jeanette Miller watched him from a distance with keen gaze. He was leaning back and talking with his brothers, smirking and superior and aloof. Every so often he'd shrug and make a comment, the smirk never leaving his lips. She hated him when he was like this.

And he was often like this.

Bits of conversation drifted back towards her. If she tilted her head and concentrated, she could just make out their voices over the din of the crowded lunchroom.

First came his brother's voice, unmistakably loud and brash: "So I've been thinking ... about after we graduate? Maybe we could do a reunion tour or something like--"

"You? Thinking?" He laughed, and Jeanette winced at the harsh sound. "_That'll_ be the day, Alvin."

He was very smart and intuitive. He was, therefore, incredibly adept at pinpointing others' weakest points. It would be different if he didn't understand how he hurt people. But he did. He understood all too well.

Goodness gracious, how she despised him sometimes.

"Ha ha. Very droll, Simon." A playful snort, laced with the barest hint of something else. Of something real and hidden away. "Anyways, not all of us knew since age five which college they want to apply to ... "

She was startled by a set of fingers snapping in front of her face. "Jean? Hey, Jeanette?"

Whirling around, she noticed Eleanor leaning forward, a concerned crease in her brow.

"Oh!" Jeanette flushed in embarrassment. She was usually much better about not getting caught. "Sorry, Ellie. I guess I went into Absent-Minded Professor mode."

Brittany giggled quietly at the in-joke, and Jeanette felt her facial muscles relax into a smile. She hadn't even realized how tense they'd been, and that worried her a bit. She didn't like to lose control like that. It wasn't ... safe.

Meanwhile, Eleanor's expression remained the same--concerned, uncertain. "Is anything ... " Her eyes flickered towards the boys' table for the briefest moment. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," replied Jeanette, definitively. Because, really, there wasn't. And although it took a good bit of her control, she managed to keep herself from thinking about Simon Seville for the entire rest of the day.

* * *

Frowning thoughtfully, she stepped through the apartment door and began sniffing at the air like a bloodhound. There was something wrong. But what? She tossed her bookbag onto the couch and headed for the kitchen. As soon as she poked her head in, she saw a glimpse of red baseball cap and immediately realized what was wrong. Alvin Seville was stationed at the stove, holding a spatula and looking, for all the world, as if he was cooking something.

Something that smelled absolutely dreadful.

Trying and failing to hide her growing sense of horror, Jeanette gasped, "Alvin! Why are _you_ making dinner?"

"Because Theodore's in his room. Where he has been the entire day." The older boy--no longer a boy, honestly, but now a man of nineteen--scowled and menacingly pointed his spatula in her direction. "Because _your_ sister broke his heart!"

She blinked at that. "Eleanor? Did they have a fight?"

"You should have seen it," interjected a voice from behind. Jeanette turned around to see Brittany standing beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shaking her head in amused disbelief. "It was a fight for the ages, Jean. For ... the ... ages."

"Oh. Oh, my." Jeanette glanced back towards the bedrooms and swore she could just barely make out the sound of sobbing. "Poor Ellie. And poor Theo, too."

Brittany scowled at that. "Poor Theo, my foot! He broke our sister's heart!"

"You mean your sister broke my _brother's_ heart," shot back Alvin angrily.

"Alvin, dear ... as per usual, you are wrong, wrong, wrong."

"Brittany, my love, I am afraid that it is _you_ who are--"

At this point, Jeanette decided to stop paying attention. While Alvin and Brittany continued bickering in the kitchen, she headed for the bedroom that belonged to Theo. She stopped outside the door, took a moment to steel herself, and then lifted her hand to knock. Then she heard a quiet, strangled sob and turned around.

The door to Simon's room stood wide open and revealed the pair of brothers inside. Theodore laid on the floor in a fetal position, tears streaming down his furry face, while Simon crouched beside him, his hand resting lightly on Theo's shoulder. Jeanette held her breath, torn between her desire to stay and observe and her respect for the boys' privacy. Neither Chipmunk seemed to realize she was there.

"Theodore." His voice was soft. She hadn't even realized his voice could _be_ this soft. "Hey there, Theodore ... c'mon. Look at me, Theo. Please?"

When Theodore didn't so much as twitch, he sighed. He reached over and gathered his baby brother into his arms. Slowly he rocked Theodore back and forth. Then he began singing, in a quiet, steady voice. She couldn't hear what exactly he was singing, but she didn't think it mattered. It was his tone, not his words, that was meant to reassure. His voice, gentle but strong, as unwavering as stone, never once faltered.

After a few minutes, Theodore stopped crying.

Her strong, protective Simon. But not her Simon, of course. Alvin and Theodore's Simon, perhaps, but never her Simon. Silently she pulled shut the bedroom door.

She loved him when he was like this.

* * *

Quietly she sat in one of the university library's plush, over-sized chairs and pondered the mysteries of stone. The problem, she decided, was that stone was so inflexible. It could be used to keep you out ... it could be used to protect ... but it could never _choose_ how it would be used. It would simply stand there, existing in all its stony glory, until the forces of the outside world slowly wore it down through erosion.

"Am I really _that _fascinating?"

Jeanette blinked dazedly at her studying companion. "Hmm?"

He chuckled. "You've been staring at me for the past five minutes."

"I have?" Jeanette quickly schooled her features into something approximating surprise and bewilderment. "Uh. Well. You know me. I must've been daydreaming."

Sitting in the chair opposite hers, Simon shook his head good-naturedly. "Jeanette, I must say, that's one of the things I've always loved about you." He rested his hands on the open pages of the book he'd been reading, a large volume on biochemistry. "You never change. You're always good old Jean."

She smiled tightly.

His eyes flicked back down to his book, and he resumed reading. "So, what were you daydreaming about?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just a poem I was thinking of composing."

"Yeah?" His lips curved into the barest hint of a grin. "You'll have to let me read it when it's done. I don't know much about literature, I admit. But I know genius when I see it."

She tried very hard not to blush. "Don't be silly, Simon. I mean, my stuff certainly isn't _bad_ ... at least, er, I hope it's not ... but still, it's hardly--"

"Modesty is for the talentless," Simon interrupted, with an imperious wave of the hand. "In all seriousness, though. I've been telling you for ages that you should publish."

She swallowed and tried to ignore how her heart fluttered within her chest. Honestly, it was more than a little ridiculous that, even after all these years, he could have this effect on her. She was twenty-two years old, for goodness sake! She was a few months away from graduation. From the beginning of true adulthood. And she was entirely too old to still hope for miracles. To hope for stone to soften.

At that sobering thought, she sighed. Then she took a pen from her bookbag, opened up her trusty, ever-present notebook, and began writing: _He is stone ..._


	2. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

**II. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall**

Fluid, warm, rolling along with the wind and the currents. Like a gentle river. With a stony face and serious gaze, Simon Seville watched her from the other side of the recording studio and mentally, silently shouted commands. The commands went unheeded. Which was not surprising as she couldn't, technically speaking, hear his thoughts. That did nothing to lessen Simon's current aggravation, however.

"I don't know, Brittany." Her voice took on that soft, almost watery quality it always did when she was about to cave in to her sister. Simon hated that tone. "Do you really think it's a good idea?"

Simon gritted his teeth. Who cared what Brittany thought? Goodness knew that Brittany had more than said enough on what Brittany thought. _Do _you_ think it's a good idea, Jeanette?_

Meanwhile, Brittany flashed a smile, all white teeth and insincerity. "Jeannie! Why, of course it's a good idea!"

Scowling, Simon picked up a nearby bass and began tuning it. He needed something to do with his hands, or he very well might end up strangling the living daylights out of a certain showboating female Chipmunk. Which would be therapeutic, undoubtedly, but would not go over well with his older brother.

"I'm not so sure," Eleanor interjected, frowning slightly. "I mean, other than you and Alvin, none of us have sang professionally since high school."

Rolling her eyes, Brittany sighed. "Details, details! That's the problem with you two. You just can't see the big picture like I can."

Jeanette nibbled at her lower lip. "That _is_ true ... "

_You are twenty-five years old, for Pete's sake!_ Still his brain wouldn't be silenced. Simon's teeth, meanwhile, were clenched so tightly his entire jaw ached._ Stand up for yourself for once, woman!_

"Simon?"

Simon glanced over, to see Theodore studying him with creased brow and worried eyes, nervously twirling a drumstick. "Are you ... are you okay, Si? You look a little upset."

"I'm fine," snarled Simon irritably. "Perfectly fine! Wonderful, even."

Nearby, haphazardly perched atop a piano, Alvin let out a derisive snort.

And that was the last straw. Simon shot his other brother a brief glare. Then, standing up and slinging the bass over his shoulder, he headed for the door. In response to Brittany's raised eyebrow, he muttered an excuse about the room being too loud to properly tune.

Once in the hallway, he collapsed into the nearest available chair. He leaned his head back against the wall and allowed his eyes to slide shut. All of a sudden he felt exhausted.

It was only a moment or two later that the recording studio door opened and shut. "Look, Theo," sighed Simon, "I really don't feel like--" He opened his eyes. Blinked. "Oh! It's you."

"Gee. Don't sound so excited to see me." Eleanor chuckled and dropped down into the chair next to his.

As she did, the garish overhead fluorescent lights reflected off the diamond ring on her left hand. Simon fought the urge to shake his head at the reminder that his brother--his _baby_ brother, at that--was inexplicably, improbably, engaged. Instead, he crossed his arms and asked, "Why are you here? Did your better half send you to come fetch me?"

"Nope! Believe it or not, I was motivated purely by concern for my future brother-in-law's well-being. Crazy, huh?"

If it was anyone else, Simon might have glared or snapped again. But this wasn't anyone else. This was Eleanor. Kind, easy-going, considerate. Like the mother he'd never really had. Subconsciously, he let his shoulders relax a bit, and he grinned.

"You want to know what's really crazy?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Just take a look at your sister."

She laughed at that, unoffended. He knew she wouldn't be. Shaking her head, she gently chided, "You're being unfair, you know. Jeanette isn't like you and me. It's more important to her that everyone just get along."

He blinked in surprise. "What? What makes you think--"

"--you were talking about Jean? And not Britt?" Eleanor smiled, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You're smart, Simon. No doubt about it. But you're not nearly as smart as you sometimes think you are."

* * *

Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then, replacing the glasses, he returned his attention to the computer monitor in front of him. He read a paragraph and, blinking, paused. Returning to the beginning of the paragraph, he read it again. Then he frowned. It still wasn't good enough. No matter how many times he read over what he'd written, he couldn't convince himself that this would pass muster at his dissertation defense.

Finally, after the fourth time he reread the passage and found it utterly lacking, Simon tore off his glasses and hurled them across the small university office. With a heavy sigh he laid his head down on the computer keyboard and tried not to succumb to mindless, terrified panic.

"I think somebody is due for a coffee break."

Surprised, Simon glanced up and squinted at the indistinct, blurry figure before him. "Jeanette?"

She chuckled as she stooped to pick up the thrown glasses. "Hello, Si! It's so good to see you again." She wandered over to his desk, perched on its edge, and held out his glasses. "I believe you may have lost these."

Smiling in chagrin, he accepted back his glasses and returned them to their proper place. "Long time, no see," he said, leaning back in his desk chair. He noticed, now that he could see clearly, that she was holding two steaming paper cups. "How was the tour?"

"The tour? It went fine, thanks." She placed one of the cups into his hands, and he took a grateful sip of the coffee it held. Happily she burbled, "All the traveling was hard on poor Ellie, though! She's due any day now. Poor dear."

"I'm sure Theodore's taking good care of her."

"Oh, I know he is. Your brother's a complete sweetheart."

He chuckled at the completely matter-of-fact way she said that. Of course, it was _true_--Theodore really was the greatest guy one could hope to have for a brother or a husband--but still, it amused him. He took another sip of his coffee and, swallowing gratefully, felt much better about his lot in life. So much better, he almost forgot about the mocking words on his computer screen. Almost.

"So, Jean," he said, after his third sip, "what brings you out to my neck of the woods, if I might ask?"

"Why, your dissertation defense. What else? It's still tomorrow, isn't it?"

The smile dropped from his face. "You ... you remembered that?"

"That you're getting your degree?" She laughed, not unkindly. "Simon! Of _course_ I remembered!"

Her eyes sparkled with her laughter, warm golds swirling in their green depths, and Simon suddenly felt his stomach tighten. Because suddenly, for the first time in his twenty-eight years, getting his doctorate wasn't the scariest, most difficult challenge he was facing.

* * *

He stalked the length of the waiting room with a caged tiger's short, staccato paces. Although he had mellowed somewhat during the passage of thirty-one years--as one might expect--he had retained his very limited capacity for patience. Especially limited since this was a situation over which he had so precious little control. And Simon was a man who desperately needed control.

While some child stars exited their celebrity years with baggage such as eating disorders or drug addictions, Simon had come out relatively unscathed. But not completely. After years of having every moment of the day planned by a manager or studio exec, of waking up in a different country than where he'd fallen asleep, of trying to keep Alvin from gleefully throwing himself into the path of danger ... well, all of that had taken its toll. How could it not have?

The main consequence being, Simon Seville did not like what he could not control. And right now, at the present moment, absolutely _nothing_ was within his control.

"You should sit down. It could still be several hours, you know."

He whirled around. Unlike him, Jeanette was perfectly, infuriatingly calm. Oh, yes. As she sat there in that uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, she was the very picture of Zen. A gentle, babbling brook of tranquility. He glared daggers at her.

"I will _not _sit down," he retorted, "thank you very much."

She sighed. Then, with a little shrug and a little shake of the head, she went back to reading her magazine.

A pang went through him. He was taking his frustration out on her--he knew he was--and that wasn't fair. At all. Embarrassed, he walked over and stiffly sat down beside her. After a few moments passed and she still didn't look up, Simon muttered in a contrite tone, "I'm sorry, Jean. I'm just, ah ... well ..."

"I know, Simon." She reached over and gave his hand a friendly squeeze. "Even though this is Ellie and Theo's second, I'm nervous too."

He glanced over and nodded. In return, Jeanette smiled in that gentle, reassuring way that was entirely her own. He felt himself smiling back, as a tingling warmth spread slowly through his stomach. Without thinking, Simon reached out with his free hand, and his fingertips lightly brushed across her cheek.

Jeanette's eyes did not leave his. He couldn't fail to notice that, where her hand still rested on his, his skin burned hot like dripping wax.

Finally, almost involuntarily, he leaned towards her.

"It's about time! Alvin, I swear--you drive like my grandmother."

Simon jerked back, startled.

"Me? _Me?_ We would have gotten here ages ago, Britt, if only you hadn't had to change clothes before we left."

By this point, Jeanette had jumped out of her chair and was halfway across the emergency room. While she scooped up her eldest sister in a tight embrace, and as Alvin tactlessly inquired into the frequency of her other sister's contractions, Simon hung back. He breathed in and out, very slowly, very deliberately. Despite his best efforts, however, his heart continued to hammer away in his chest.

He couldn't believe that he ... he'd come so close to ... and he had nearly ...

Simon frowned and shook his head. Stupid. So very, very stupid. He'd almost ruined everything, and he hated her a little for that. It was unfair, but it was true. Because Jeanette unnerved him. Jeanette made him lose face. Most importantly, Jeanette made him lose control.

That was the thing about rivers, really. They looked nice and calm on the surface, but men _drowned_ in them.


	3. And all the king's horses

**III. And all the king's horses and all the king's men**

Jeanette had been smiling, non-stop, for three hours. Her jaw ached. Her lips ached. Her cheeks ached. Her entire _soul_ ached.

Nobody had warned her about the very special kind of torture that comprised a book tour.

And, after three hours of smiling and chatting and signing books, she felt her smile freeze into a hard, plastic, grotesque caricature. If anyone noticed, however, they politely kept it to themselves. But as soon as the latest group walked through the doors of the bookstore, Jeanette perked up and grinned--a wide, genuine grin that spread from ear to ear.

"Ellie! Theo! Britt!" Jeanette completely forgot that she was supposed to be a respected and best-selling author. Standing up, she waved frantically. "Hey! Hey, over here!"

Brittany shook her head and rolled her eyes. But Theodore and Eleanor waved back, just as enthusiastically, and began herding their small troupe of children in the general direction of their aunt. The children only need a little prompting, however. Once they spotted just who was behind the book-laden table, they lit up and began a howling chorus of "Aunt Jeannie! Aunt Jeannie!"

Setting down her pen, Jeanette politely murmured, "Excuse me," to the woman who was next in line then slipped out from behind her station. She had just enough time to kneel down and brace herself before she became completely engulfed in nieces and nephews.

"Be careful, my lovelies!" Brittany's voice was deeply amused. "You don't want to break your auntie's brittle old bones, do you?"

Eleanor snorted. "Brittany, she's only thirty-eight. And besides, she's _younger _than you."

"A dirty, dirty lie! Don't listen to your mother, children."

For his part, Theodore simply chuckled under his breath. Sometimes he could be a very smart Chipmunk.

The next hour was spent pleasantly, if somewhat chaotically. In between signing books and introducing herself to fans, Jeanette also chatted with her sisters and brother-in-law. While explaining her inspiration for certain passages, she also kept a watch on her nieces and nephews out of the corner of her eye, occasionally dashing forward to snatch one off the top of some bookshelves or another from getting clocked in the face by the bookstore's automatic doors.

Then things began slowly down. The crowd thinned out and, eventually, dispersed as the remaining few stragglers were gently ushered out the door by the store's tired staff. Theodore and Eleanor gathered up their brood--all of whom were either snoring or yawning--and, that minor miracle accomplished, they too took their leave.

After several rounds of kisses and hugs and good-byes, that left Jeanette and her agent ... and Brittany. As she packed up her remaining books and her agent headed outside to call a cab, Jeanette sneaked glances at her remaining sister. Brittany, for her part, sat perched on the table that had been used for book-signing, browsing through a random magazine and looking completely at home.

Finally, Jeanette turned to her sister and gently cleared her throat. "So."

"So?" Brittany glanced up from her magazine with one eloquently arched eyebrow.

"Uh, Britt ... the signing is ... over." She fidgeted with the pen still in her hands. "I know these sorts of events aren't really your ... you know, your thing. And since we're just about done here--"

Abruptly Brittany shot to her feet. "No!"

Jeanette blinked.

"I mean ... heh ... no need to cut thing short on account of little old me." Brittany smiled, and for some reason, it looked strangely nervous. "After all, the night is young, and so are we!"

"That's not what you said to--"

"Jeannie, Jeannie, Jeannie. What I said is the past!" Strolling over, Brittany threw an arm around Jeanette's shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. Lifting her other arm, she sneaked a glance at her wristwatch. "Let's not talk about the past. Let's talk about the future."

Jeanette's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's going on here, Brittney? What do you want?"

Her older sister blinked rapidly, as though genuinely surprised at the questions, the way she always did right before telling some outrageous, bald-faced lie. But just as Brittany opened her mouth, someone quietly coughed, and she shut it just as quickly. A broad smile spread over Brittany's face while under her breath she muttered, "It is about _time_."

_Time for what, exactly?_ Jeanette wondered, turning around. Then, as she found herself staring into a familiar pair of bright blue eyes that glittered like ice, all further thought came crashing to an immediate halt.

--

_This is pure, unbridled insanity,_ thought Simon as he shifted uncomfortably, his fingers digging into his palms as he clenched his hands and struggled not to flee in panic.

"Why, Simon! What a pleasant surprise!" Brittany could not possibly sound faker if she actively tried. "Well, I'll just skedaddle and let you two kids catch up ... "

He fought down the urge to groan audibly. Instead, as his least favorite Miller made a beeline for the door, he forced himself to meet Jeanette's gaze. It was much harder than it should have been. Honestly, he was far too old to be quite this nervous.

After all, he was just attending his good friend's book-signing. At least, that's what he'd told himself when he'd gotten onto the airplane.

"I ... you ... " Jeanette grinned and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, you came! I didn't think you could make it to the book-signing!"

Staggering backwards in surprise, Simon tentatively lifted his hands to place them, ever so lightly, on the small of her back. Chuckling, he told her, "I didn't think I could, either, to be honest. But I made a few last minute arrangements back at the lab and ... well ... " He smiled as Jeanette's head nestled against his neck. "Jean, I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

They stood there, embracing, for several long moments. For an eternity. He breathed in her hair--clean, fresh, smelling faintly of apples and entirely of Jeanette--and, for the first time in a long while, he felt completely content.

Then Jeanette abruptly jerked back.

"A book!" Blushing, she patted his arm before beginning to turn. "I need to get you a book! Since this is a book-signing, after all."

But instead of releasing her, he tightened his hold.

_"I don't know, Simon. What if they don't want to publish my book?"_

_"Then we'll try another publisher. But you can't just let fear stand in the way of what you want, Jeanette."_

Her eyes betrayed her confusion even as she smiled at him. "Si? Is everything okay?"

He took a deep breath. He did not travel over a thousand miles, battle against airsickness, and go without lunch and dinner just to get a signature on a book.

_You can't let fear stand in the way of what you want ..._

So, summoning what little bravado he possessed, Simon Seville did something he had desperately wanted to do ever since he was seven years old. He leaned forward and kissed Jeanette Miller.

--

Alvin Seville was many things, to many people. He was devious. Determined. By turns he could be ruthlessly amoral and then naively idealistic. He could be clown, con artist, and Casanova, all at once.

He was also, on occasion, a good big brother.

So it was that, standing across the street from the bookstore, leaning against the hood of his car, he kept watch over the bookstore with a vigilant hawk's eye. Although he could feel Brittany fidgeting beside him, Alvin didn't bother glancing over. Instead, he stared at his brother and silently willed the stubborn jerk to just _do _something. Anything! As long as Simon broke out of his persistent, decades-long habit of playing it safe ... maintaining the status quo ... denying that he was vulnerable enough to have actual, sentient, honest-to-goodness emotions.

"Sure took you long enough," Brittany grumbled at last. "I tell you, Seville! The efforts I had to go through to keep Jeanette in that store while you went and got Simon."

Alvin couldn't resist. He rolled his eyes at Brittany's theatrics and glanced over. "And I guess it was a picnic for me to pick Simon up from the airport during rush hour? Especially since he was crankier than usual, because his flight got delayed?"

"Oh, please! It's not like you were--" Suddenly she gasped. "Oh. My. Gosh. Alvin!"

He whirled around and drew in a sharp breath. It wasn't real--it _couldn't_ be real--and yet ... And yet, there Simon stood, perfectly visible through the store windows, kissing Jeanette. Smiling, Alvin whispered, "I didn't think he actually had it in him."

When he felt Brittany's hand on his arm, he turned back to her. She too was smiling, although her lips trembled at the corners. "She never gave up on him," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "Even through all these years, she never stopped loving him."

Alvin rested his chin atop her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Still smiling, he dropped a kiss into her hair. Then, when he glanced back up, he froze. Jeanette and Simon were still standing in the store, right in front of the large picture windows, both their heads brightly haloed by the store's fluorescent lights. But now, Jeanette was laughing and holding Simon's face cupped in her hands, while Simon laughed right along with her, smiling so broadly that his cheeks had to hurt from the effort.

That wasn't what brought Alvin up short, however. No, what knocked the air right out of his chest was the fact that Simon ... snarky, irritable, logical, humorless Simon ...

Simon was _crying_.


	4. Couldn't put Humpty together again

**IV. Couldn't put Humpty together again**

All in all, she was really quite pleased with how her Saturday evening was shaping up. It would have bored Brittany to tears, she was sure, but it suited Jeanette perfectly--curling up against Simon on the couch in her apartment and relaxing against the soft warmth of his torso, all while reading the book in her lap and drinking the cup of tea resting on the coffee table. For his part, Simon sat grading exams from his introductory level class and occasionally taking a sip from his coffee.

Though neither had spoken within the last half hour, if not longer, it didn't feel awkward to her. It just felt … quiet. Comfortable. Intimate. Sighing happily, Jeanette nestled her head against Simon's shoulder and glanced up at her significant other.

A slight smile graced his lips. He reached over and began running his fingers through her hair, absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the papers he was grading. His fingers moved slowly and gently, a feather's touch. Jeanette shivered.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "N-no."

"I could fetch a blanket, you know, or a sweater …"

It didn't escape her notice that he hadn't including "turning up the thermostat" as an option. His excessive, cheapskate frugality never ceased to amaze her. For goodness' sake, he'd made _millions _back when he was singing! Usually this particular character trait of Simon's annoyed her to no end, but tonight Jeanette simply found it quirky and endearing.

And that's when she knew. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for all week. The perfect time, the perfect situation, to just open her mouth and _ask_ him.

"Simon …"

He made a few slashing marks with his red pen, then murmured distractedly in reply, "Hmm?"

_Stay, _she silently pleaded. Slowly she opened her mouth._ Stay like this with me._

Then she closed her mouth again. Even after all these decades, even at forty years old, she simply didn't have the courage. She reached down and shut her notebook with a brisk snap, angry with herself. And, unfairly, slightly angry at him too, for not being able to magically read her mind.

"Jean?"

She glanced back up to find that he was looking down at her, the exams now forgotten, with a slight frown marring his features. A frown of worry and concern. Of love. He didn't say the words very often, for whatever his reasons, but he was constantly telling her that he loved her in a myriad other ways. Precisely as he was doing right now.

Almost before she realized she was going to do it, Jeanette blurted out, "Stay."

His frown deepened into one of confusion. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere. Besides which, there's still half a class worth's of exams to grade."

"No, Simon." She swallowed thickly and, after a moment to steel herself, met his gaze straight-on. Hoping her eyes would say what she couldn't seem to, she added softly, "I mean … _stay_."

_Stay with me._

His frown slowly faded, and his eyes widened. It took all of her willpower not to look away. She watched Simon swallow, once, twice, as he processed what she was saying. His breathing grew rapid and shallow, and Jeanette knew that he understood perfectly what she was asking.

_Stay like this._

He'd always known her so much better than anyone realized. Better than anyone gave him credit for. Sometimes, he almost knew her better than she knew herself.

_Stay for good. Stay forever._

That knowledge of her that he had--that unspoken power--used to scare her. But it didn't now. Not anymore. Now, the only thing she feared from Simon was the threat of his absence.

"Yes," he whispered finally, in a voice rough with held-back emotion. "Yes, of course."

--

The tie wasn't the problem. He was used to bow-ties. He, in fact, wore bow-ties fairly frequently when lecturing in the classroom. So it wasn't the tie that was causing him to sweat and fidget and just generally despise the entire concept of the tuxedo.

No. It was the _cummerbund_.

Simon Seville stared down at his waist and scowled. After giving the offending article of clothing an annoyed and vicious tug, he glanced back up only to see his brother's thoughtful eyes upon him.

Theodore favored him with a small, gentle smile. "Are you nervous?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous, Theodore."

Nodding, the younger chipmunk seemed to ponder that answer for a few moment before asking, "Are you fibbing?"

He sighed in defeat. "Yes."

"As your best man, I feel I should point out that everything is going to be fine." Theo's smile brightened. "This whole wedding has been a long time coming, after all."

"Even so. What if … what if she--"

"She won't."

"But what if I--"

"You won't, Simon. I promise."

Tilting his head, squinting slightly, he marveled at his younger brother's hidden powers of perception. "Am I really _that_ predictable?"

Theodore chuckled. "Big brother, I could set my watch by you. And then use it to time boiled eggs. Right down to the millisecond."

Simon chuckled too and found himself relaxing a bit in the warm comfort of Theo's confidence. Then, noticing Theodore suddenly snap to attention, he whirled around--and gasped.

Jeanette stood at the opposite end of the church, smiling nervously, wearing a long flowing dress and spring flowers in her hair. Alvin stood beside her, proud and preening, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. Even if that attention was only because he'd been given the honor of walking the bride down the aisle.

But Simon only had eyes for Jeanette. His Jeanette. His heart, his life, his world--and in about twenty minutes, give or take, depending on how much grandstanding Alvin felt it necessary to engage in, Simon's wife.

--

Right around age fifty, after having spent a little more than a decade establishing her credentials as a serious writer of serious books, Jeanette Seville-Miller decided to stop caring what the critics said and start writing for herself. Brittany clucked disapprovingly, as could be expected, while Eleanor just smiled and said the change was overdue. Simon--ever indifferent to things that did not directly and negatively impact his loved ones or his work--simply told her that he was happy if she was happy.

And, in fact, she was very happy. She began writing children's books, and she was happy.

What won her a Newberry, however, wasn't a book but a children's poem. Over dozens of pages, in long, languid stanzas, Jeanette unfurled the story of a very large stone in a river.

For years, the stone and the river stood separate, distinct, alone. The river rushed wildly past, a bit dizzy and more than a bit helter-skelter. The river missed seeing much of the beautiful woods that surrounded it on both banks, because it just let itself be carried along and never much cared for where. The stone, meanwhile, remained firmly and stubbornly in its place. It never saw very much of the woods, either, simply because it never went anywhere.

Then something strange began to happen. The river's water, lapping steadily, hour after hour, day after day, began breaking off tiny bits of the stone. Fine as grains of sand, the stone's pieces got caught up in the river's rapids. These pieces floated cheerfully along, seeing parts of the woods they had never seen.

Slowly and over time, more and more of the stone wore away, and the river's bed began to fill up. Something else strange happened then. The river slowed down. Only slightly, at first, and almost imperceptibly. But increasingly, as the days went by, the river noticed more and more details in the woods because it was not rushing by quite so fast. No longer was the river strictly beholden to the whims of the water's currents and eddies.

Yet more time passed, as time is wont to do. Eventually the large stone eroded entirely away, and the river stopped flowing because it had become completely filled with the stone's silt. What remained was neither stone nor river but something else entirely--a very rich, moist soil. The river and the stone were sad for a time, because they were no longer moving and could no longer see all of the beautiful woods as they had before.

Their sadness was not long-lived, however. Flowers quickly bloomed in their fertile soil and, within a hundred years, giant trees had grown up to tower protectively over those flowers. The stone and the river rejoiced in the green life all around them. They were not sad about missing the woods, and for very good reason.

They _were_ the woods.

And neither could have become such without the other.

--  
Author's Notes: For anyone who might still be following this story, my apologies for how long this last chapter took to post. Real life and its obligations intervened, etc, etc, excuses, excuses. Thanks very much to those who have been reading, however! I hope this ending satisfies.


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